


Letters in The Wind

by branloaf



Category: 15th Century CE RPF
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Uncle/Niece Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28585317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/branloaf/pseuds/branloaf
Summary: An AU where King Richard III wins at Bosworth and kills Henry Tudor, Elizabeth of York’s betrothed and, thanks to the letters they shared, her one and only true love.
Relationships: Elizabeth of York Queen of England/Henry VII of England, Elizabeth of York Queen of England/Richard III of England
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Histories Ficathon XI





	Letters in The Wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maria (Queenofcarnage)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofcarnage/gifts).



> This is certainly not at all historically accurate! But since this is an AU, I figured that wouldn’t matter as much.

Elizabeth Plantagenet, the eldest daughter of the late King Edward, sits in quiet thought by a window of Grafton Manor, basking in the warm summer light streaming into the room. Behind her, she can hear her younger sisters, Catherine and Bridget, playing merrily, unaware of the uncertainty of the coming weeks. She blocks out the noise, her mind focused on the battle that is to happen outside these walls.

She picks up the parchment in her lap, the messy scrawl a message from her betrothed, Henry Tudor. The match wasn’t one she originally wanted, and was only part of a deal between her mother and his. Even if her uncle declared her a bastard, Elizabeth still thought it demeaning to marry an exiled Lancastrian Welshman instead of the Dauphin of France as her father promised.

But as the letters slowly came in over the past year or so, Elizabeth felt herself slowly warming to the Tudor boy. His words were always delicate and full of promise, written elegantly in French. This most recent letter in his hand does not possess the same elegance, instead being a few hurriedly scribbled words sent to her before he departed for England, and for battle. 

On the other side of the room, Elizabeth’s sister Cecily sits with an embroidery hoop in her hands, carefully stitching a section of a piece she was working on depicting Saint George. Cutting off the thread and looking over at Elizabeth, Cecily, aware of her sister’s hidden worries, tries to offer some words of reassurance.

“Don’t worry, Lys. All the nobles have turned to Tudor. Richard’s support is dwindling.” 

"You know very well that does not always matter, sister." Elizabeth murmurs. "I pray God is on our side. That he punishes our uncle for murdering our brothers." The final words, of Elizabeth and Henry finally meeting and being wed, are left unspoken, but Cecily can hear them clearly.

"He will see his just punishment for his sins. And England shall be at peace." 

The girls' mother, dowager Queen Elizabeth Woodville, enters the bright room, moving towards the youngest daughters who are still playing together. The younger Elizabeth stands, moving towards a small chest sitting atop a cupboard. Opening it, she places the letter inside, joining the numerous others from her beloved.

"I will be at prayer. Please inform me of any news of the battle." Dipping a small curtsey to her mother, she departs for the chapel.

The small statue of the Virgin Mary holding the baby Jesus at the head of the chapel is bathed in the light streaming in through the stained glass window behind it, giving it an angelic appearance. Taking this as a sign of hope, Elizabeth drops to her knees, beginning a prayer in Latin. 

As she prays for her betrothed and the peace his victory will bring England, her mind tries again to form the image of him. Countless times she has tried to picture his features and imagine her husband. His mother had given a summary of his features as she recalled the last time she had seen him, and so Elizabeth incorporated them with the Beaufort appearance she expected him to inherit from Lady Margaret. Long, angular features. Brown, perhaps auburn hair. In her mind, Henry could not be more handsome, and she hopes her mental picture will ring true - before praying for forgiveness for her shallowness.

Her prayers doing little to calm her mind, Elizabeth soon decides to return to the room she shares with her sisters. Checking how much ink she has, she then sits at the small desk near the empty fireplace, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment. Dipping a quill in the ink, she begins to pen a letter to Henry, filling it with the words she wishes she could tell him at this exact moment.

My dear Henry,

My heart and body long to see you finally come to me, bearing the marks of victory. It will not be easy for us, alas now I see it is God's will that you take England's crown from my uncle after he took it from my brother. When we are married,

Elizabeth is at a loss for words, unsure of how to continue. All the emotions swirling within her are almost overwhelming, making it difficult for her to find the words to articulate them. 

Cecily's approach distracts Elizabeth from her writing. The assumption that her sister only wants to talk to her or keep her company is dashed immediately when Elizabeth notices her grave face. 

"There is a message from the battle." She pauses, not wanting to break the heart of her closest companion. "Henry Tudor… Tudor was killed. King Richard has won." 

Growing up as the eldest daughter of the King, the highest lady in the realm after her own mother, Elizabeth is able to hide her shock well. That is until seconds later when she accepts that she is alone with only her sister, and rises from her seat and rushes into her arms, unable to quieten her sobs.

"How can that be?" She cries. "He had a certain victory! We were to be married!"

Cecily does not speak. She stands with her arms around her sister, ignoring her headdress being shifted by Elizabeth's sudden dash towards her. It is only a few minutes later that Elizabeth steps back, straightening herself and wiping at her eyes with the handkerchief tucked into the pouch tied to her waist. Although aware that her show of emotion was met with no judgment from her sister, Elizabeth is humiliated at her sudden breakdown. 

"What happens now?" She asks, her fingers toying with the corners of the handkerchief. Its edges are embroidered with white roses darned with gold. She hastily crams it back into the pouch, not wanting to look at the symbol any longer. Once, it symbolised everything that brought her happiness. Now, it will only remind her of her lost love.

Cecily sighs, tugging her henin back into place. "The message says once King Richard has returned to London, we will all be summoned to court. What is to happen after that, I do not know."

"He may very well try to marry you, Elizabeth." 

The voice had come from their mother who now stood in the doorway. Entering the room, she continued with her theory.

"He has defeated the last Lancastrian threat and needs a wife and an heir. Why not take the betrothed of his now dead enemy to show how strong he is?" 

"That would not do him any favours." Cecily says sternly. "With all the rumours of Lys and Richard… if he marries her, it would be confirmation to many that he poisoned Queen Anne." 

Cecily continues to bicker with her mother about Richard’s current situation, Elizabeth ignored as if she is not there. It does not matter to her anyway, as Elizabeth does not make an effort to listen to their bickering, her mind still on the fact that Henry is dead. 

As if her world is moving in slow motion and is finally catching up with the speed of reality, Elizabeth finally processes their words theorising Richard’s future marriage plans. 

“No. I will not marry Richard. Not after everything he has done.” Her voice is stern, leaving no room for argument. 

“You have no choice in the matter. He is the King.” Her mother tells her. 

“I could see true happiness in my future. For the first time in years! And now he has taken that from me, just as he took my brothers. I will not submit to him.”

Pity in their eyes, Cecily and Elizabeth Woodville stare at the young Elizabeth, unsure of what to say. So set in her ways, they both know nothing they can tell her would change her mind. 

“We’ll leave you alone.” Cecily says, forcing her mother to leave the room with her. 

It is only a few days later when men wearing King Richard’s livery arrive at Grafton, summoning the King’s nieces and the dowager Queen to court. Surprised at how quickly the summons came, there is a rush through the home as everyone prepares to leave. A rush for all except Elizabeth, who remains in her bedchamber focused on changing into a mourning gown, determined to show her devotion to her late betrothed. 

Her sisters and mother waiting for her, Elizabeth emerges from the bedchamber in a black gown. It is plain with the only embellishment being the black onyx jewels lined along the top of the bodice, and on the front down the join where the lace is fastened. Embroidered along the edge of her chemise, only just visible above her bodice, are tiny red roses which she had painstakingly embroidered herself. Stepping back a few decades in headwear, she wears a black wimple, deciding not to wear a veil. 

“Lys…” Cecily wears a plain blue gown, and the uncertainty over her sister’s wardrobe choice is clear. The others wear similar gowns to Cecily, in varying shades of blue and green. 

“The King does not own me.” Elizabeth declares. “I am bound to someone else. And even if he were to force me into marriage, he would never own my heart.”

Elizabeth makes her way to the chest still in the room, left untouched by the other occupants. Opening it, she grabs all the letters, each one neatly folded and delicately placed inside. Without a word, she returns to the bedchamber, where a small fire she had lit earlier burns in the fireplace. The heat making her grow uncomfortable in the already warm summer day, Elizabeth crouches down and slowly drops the letters one by one into the fireplace. As each one is licked by the flames and curls up, turning to ash, Elizabeth whispers a prayer. The smell of burning parchment searing her nostrils, tears begin to form in her eyes as she drops the last one from Henry, wherein he assured her of his victory and the life they will make for themselves and for England. 

She watches the flames dance around for a few moments more before standing and smoothing out her gown, not wanting someone to come and tell her to hurry so they can leave. 

Closing her eyes, she murmurs. “God grant me the strength to survive what I must face from my uncle.” She crosses herself, and with the briefest moment of hesitation, leaves the chamber and heads out with the women in her family for London.


End file.
